


Rule the World

by BennyBatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Stardust (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BennyBatch/pseuds/BennyBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was too late to turn back now, no matter how tedious the task Mycroft assigned to him was. Search for an object which has fallen from the sky? Not really his area…until he finds it, that is, and becomes endlessly intrigued. </p><p>A Sherlock AU set in a modernesque Stardust universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_You light the skies up above me._

 

* * *

 

The fountain pen moved smoothly across the expensive stock, the black ink forming graceful curves on the page before finishing the signature with a flourish as it lifted from the document. _Mycroft Holmes_. The man looked on the signature with mild disdain when he noticed the slight smudge on the ‘s’ that was caused by the sleeve of his dark suit as it brushed across the still drying ink. Although it was a relatively small error, it was still far from his normally immaculate signature. Before he could think on it further, a soft rapping drew his cold, calculating eyes up from the many documents stacked on the expanse of his desk to gaze at the large oak doors. “Enter,” he said.

Mycroft felt a gentle swell of air as the doors were pushed open upon the simple command to reveal his assistant. He studied her as she turned to close the doors behind her. His eyes travelled down her person, taking note of every aspect of her facade when something in her perfectly manicured hands caught his eye. She held two manilla folders, one considerably larger than the other. It was the smaller one, however, that held Mycroft’s unwavering attention even as she made her way to his desk, the click of her heels echoing in the quiet space. Without taking his eyes off the file, Mycroft waited until she came to a full stop in front of him before asking dryly, “Anthea, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

His eyes slowly slid back up to her face when an answer, or, more pointedly, the files, weren’t forthcoming. He took note that her eyes were just as impassive as his previous comment to her had been while he waited for her to speak. However, before she crossed the line into insubordination, she held both folders out to him, a ghost of a smirk on her face, before saying, “There’s been another, sir.”

After giving her an icy stare which she returned coolly, he took the files from her with the utmost care before laying them down on his desk. He set the larger of the two next to the small lamp in the corner of his desk, having already gone through its contents twenty-seven times. And yet, even though he knew every detail, he still had not found any semblance of a pattern to its particular brand of madness. The smaller file, which he had set in front of himself, he hoped would be the piece that provides the answers needed to solve the puzzle.

He swiftly opened the cover, eager for whatever information it had to offer him. Inside its manilla confines was a plethora of photos as well as sheets of data that were compiled as soon as his observatory team spotted the anomaly. He picked up one of the photos on the top of the slim pile to scrutinize. The first thing that caught his eye was the light surrounding the central object. Like the others, the light burned orange in color as the object descended through the atmosphere, however, there was one difference that his team failed to mention in their notes. Fifty-two degrees from the center, he spotted what looked to be a small flare. It was almost negligible, really. It could just be trapped gases that escaped and combusted as soon as the object hit the atmosphere and yet...it could be something more significant than that. A mistake, maybe. If it was a mistake, it would make it that much easier to locate before it disappeared like the others. If not...then he was back to square one.

After the few seconds it took him to look over the whole file, Mycroft closed it with the flick of his wrist. "This is the fifth one in two months." He clasped his hands together under his chin and rested his elbows on his desk before he looked up at Anthea. "It's time."

Although he kept his features perfectly schooled, Mycroft delighted in the slight pleasure it brought to watch his assistant remove her eyes from the phone in her hand in puzzlement.

"Sir?"

"Bring him in."

Mycroft watched as Anthea gave a single nod in understanding before she replied with a hurried 'Yes, sir' as she turned to walk back out the large doors to carry out what was tasked to her. As soon as the doors closed behind her retreating form, Mycroft leaned back into his luxe chair, his hands coming to clasp the ends of its arms as he sat in thought.

The past two months had been trying, especially since he had little or no leads to assist him with this case. The only lead he had come across was during the third case. It wasn’t until he got close enough to find an answer that everything started to unravel around him and the trail suddenly turned cold. It was frustrating, to say the least. But perhaps the stars had aligned in his favor with the fifth addition to his collection. After all, the flare couldn’t have just been coincidence, could it? But then again, what is it they say about coincidence?

The universe is rarely so lazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I want to thank you for reading this prologue chapter and I appreciate any feedback from you guys as my readers. 
> 
> I want to mention that the words italicized at the beginning of each chapter are lyrics from the song Rule the World by Take That. I in no way hold any rights to that song but I thought it fit beautifully with the theme of this fanfiction (it also helps that it was used in Stardust as well so I couldn't resist).
> 
> Also, this piece is not beta-read so any mistakes that are found are my own. If anyone is interested in beta reading, please contact me on tumblr ( fascinatingmisterspock ).


	2. Chapter One

_A star, so bright you blind me._

* * *

 

The smell of damp earth lingered in the underground passage as he and Mr. Merryweather, the bank’s director, travelled quietly down the narrow, winding staircase. The silence wasn’t broken until Mr. Merryweather decided to comment, “I pray this doesn’t end up to be a wild goose chase, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock could tell that he was goading for some sort of response so he replied with none, choosing instead to quicken his pace. He knew the director was referring to their trek as well as that of the two officers he had asked to accompany them. Seeing as how he had earlier discovered a secret passage into the cellar of the bank, he had had the two officers remain behind, lying in wait for the two thieves if they were to double back. Not that he really disclosed any of that information to Mr. Merryweather, too tedious. He heard a soft huff of air escape the man behind him as he then struggled to keep up, the steps seemingly treacherous for him. It wasn’t a few moments later that he finally reached the bottom of the staircase.

He stood in wait as his companion slowly caught up, his chest heaving, a hand braced on the wall as if he might faint from exertion. Sherlock allowed the man, once he had caught his breath, to shuffle past him and insert a small key into the door before he pushed it open with slight difficulty. What was revealed was a small storage cellar stocked with large crates, most likely filled with the French gold he had deduced the thieves lusted after.

He slowly followed the director into the space, eyes scouring every corner as he moved about in order to locate the veiled entrance. He continued to do so until he heard a loud bang come from behind him. When he turned around, he found Mr. Merryweather looking up at him in surprise before he said, “Why, it sounds quite hollow!”

“Keep quiet!” he hissed at him. Sherlock dashed to where the director was kneeled on the ground and abruptly pushed him to the side as he leaned down to examine the floors. “Idiot, you may well have just jeopardized the entire case!” As he brought out his magnifying glass and held his torch aloft, he said quickly, “Now, if you would be so kind as to sit atop that crate over there and not interfere, that would be lovely.” While he closely examined the cracks between the stones, he heard the man give a huff of indignation before doing as he was told, the crate creaking slightly under his weight. It only took a few moments before he was satisfied with his findings and sprang to his feet, sliding the glass back into his pocket. “I expect,” he started, “that they will be here within the hour. So, if you would, turn off your light.”

“And, what, sit in the dark?”

“Obviously.” He didn’t take the time to observe the man’s reaction to his words but instead hid himself behind another crate, choosing the one that had a decent view of the concealed entrance. Once huddled behind his crate, he turned off his light and, with a sigh, his companion did the same, throwing the room into complete and silent darkness.

The night slowly wore on into dawn as he sat there, limbs becoming weary and stiff from the lack of movement lest he inadvertently give up the game too soon. Just as he had begun to rest his eyes for a few moments, a sliver of light burst through the cracks in the floor, which immediately drew his attention to the center of the room. He watched, transfixed, as a pale hand prodded around the edges of the stone slab. The hand suddenly withdrew, leaving only the sliver of light behind before it was back with a vengeance. He heard a tearing sound as the stone slab was rent over on its side leaving a square, gaping hole in the floor of the cellar that the orange light of a lantern streamed through. Shortly after the stone was pushed aside, the clean-cut, boyish face of a young man—John Clay—peered over the edge and looked keenly about. Obviously sensing that nothing was amiss, the man hoisted himself up through the hole and kneeled next to the edge, looking back at what Sherlock assumed was his accomplice. If only the man moved to the—ah, there he was. He could barely make out a shock of red hair as the man kneeling on the ground began to talk to his friend. “It’s all clear,” he heard Clay whisper. “Do you have the chisel and the bags? Good God, Archie, just jump and I’ll swing for it!”

It was then that Sherlock sprang out of his hiding spot and grabbed Clay by the collar, catching him unawares. He saw Clay’s accomplice duck back into the hole and retreat out of the corner of his eye as Clay began to struggle against his grip. “It’s no use, John Clay,” Sherlock said monotonously. “You have no chance at all.”

The man’s struggling ceased as he turned his head to reply with the utmost coolness, “So I see. Looks like my pal got away, though, pity that.”

“I have two men waiting for him at the door,” Sherlock answered as he brought the cuffs out of his pocket and clapped them onto the other man’s wrists. “Anyway, you’ll see your _pal_ ,” his lip curled in distaste as the word left his mouth, “again shortly.” He ignored any further comments hurled at him as he marched John Clay back up the narrow steps with Mr. Merryweather following behind in an awestruck stupor. Once outside, he pushed the man into the waiting arms of the two officers who he had asked accompany him. His eyes followed them as they walked towards the police car where the man's accomplice was already confined and waiting before he noticed a darkened form across the street. However, the cry of 'Mr. Holmes!' had his eyes sliding away from the figure to find Mr. Merryweather jogging towards him.

"Really, Mr. Holmes," the bank director started as soon as he was in front of him. "I do not know how the bank could ever thank or repay you. There is no doubt in my mind that you have staved off one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that I have ever experienced."

Sherlock's eyes had wandered back to the figure, female judging from the silhouette, as the man spoke. “Yes, well, I must say that the narrative of the Red-headed League was quite fascinating. However,” Sherlock spun to face the man, startling him with the sudden movement. “I must also remind you that the bank owes me repayment for the small expenses accrued over the course of this case. Good day.” And with that, Sherlock stalked off towards the main road, leaving the sputtering director in his wake.

As he walked, Sherlock cast a sidelong glance across the street to find that he and the woman were now walking in tandem. He observed with more scrutiny as she traversed the light of a streetlamp. Long, brown hair carefully curled to accentuate the angles of her face, business attire that had just recently been cleaned, a phone in her perfectly manicured hand, and a soft up turn of the lips. Wonderful.

With a sigh, his pace slowed as he neared the end of the block, reluctantly accepting what was inevitable. Stepping up to the curb, he waited and, just as he had predicted, a sleek black car pulled around the corner and stopped directly in front of him. He remained standing a while longer, if only to cause irritation to the car’s sender, before opening the door and sliding inside. It was only moments later that the door on the opposite side opened and the woman slipped in beside him, a faux smile plastered on her face. “Good morning, Mr. Holmes.”

He decided to reply with a tight lipped smile of his own before he leaned his head back to rest against the leather seats and allowed his eyes to fall shut; after all, he hardly required to look about him in order to ascertain his location.

As the car began to move, his mind raced over the possible explanations for why he was being dragged halfway across London at this hour. It was for a case, that much was blatantly obvious, as well as the fact that it must be of dire importance if he was deliberately sought out for it. However, he had not heard of any national calamities through any of his sources in a good while, so he was at a momentary loss for answers.

He opened his eyes again twenty minutes later as the car began to slow. The car had yet to even stop before he was out the door, not bothering to wait for the other passenger as he stalked up to the entrance of the modest building. Modest, he scoffed at the thought; it was obviously anything but to the more observant onlooker. He pushed open the glass doors with a flourish and started down the halls. He took note of everything from the potted plants to the paintings carefully hung on the walls if only to further strengthen his point. No matter how inconspicuous the object seemed, everything had a place and a purpose—even the seemingly unassuming workers he passed as he twisted and turned through the building had their own hidden agendas. The average observer wouldn’t have noticed the slight narrowing of the eye and thorough once over received from these people before being disarmed by a courteous smile and nod.

He turned his eyes away as another deliberately innocuous man smiled at him when they crossed paths before letting a slight frown cross his features as his trek came to a close. The woman from the car was already standing in wait for him, a supercilious smile on her face that disappeared as she turned to knock on the large wooden doors. He heard a muffled ‘enter’ in response before the doors were pushed open to reveal the dimly lit room. He sauntered in after scanning the office briefly and plopped down onto the lone couch that rested on the east wall of the room. Paper crumpled under his feet as he set them haphazardly atop the low table. He watched with little patience as the man behind the desk straightened out the plethora of documents laid upon it. “Thank you, Anthea,” the man said without looking up from his task.

“Of course, sir,” she replied before leaving, the doors closing resolutely behind her.

His eyes were still on the door when he heard, “Hello, brother dear. You’re a tad bit late.”

“Mycroft.” His voice was cold as he turned back to face his brother. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’re headed to Wall this afternoon, is that correct?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother’s forward question and refused to respond. Even if he was, what could that possibly have to do with anything?

“By your silence, I will take that as an affirmative.” He watched as Mycroft sighed and leaned back into his chair, peculiar, before he continued, “If that is the case, then I have an assignment in that vicinity that you may find stimulating.”

His interest peaked slightly at that, not that he allowed it to show outwardly. “Go on.”

“Fifteen minutes ago, my team recorded an anomaly in our atmosphere. This is what they spotted.” Mycroft held up a photograph for him to examine. The central object was surrounded in a bright, orange light as it burned through the atmosphere, but, as far as that, there was nothing extraordinary about it. “As you can see, by the size of the object, it appears to resemble either a satellite or a small meteor. However, none of the satellites currently in orbit have been reported as destroyed or missing. Therefore, it must be a meteor of some kind, although we cannot ascertain what kind of alloys it may contain—”

“Boring,” he yawned and started to drum his fingers on the arm of the couch. “What do I care for fallen rocks?”

“If you would allow me to finish, brother,” Mycroft’s eyes bore into him as he spoke sharply. “This is the fifth report of this kind I have received and, for the first time, we may be able to reach its location before anyone else. This mission is strictly reconnaissance—”

“Reconnaissance?” he interjected, scowling. “Honestly, Mycroft, get one of your lackeys to do it for you.”

Mycroft sent him a tight-lipped smile before he continued, “Until we know more about what we are dealing with, yes, Sherlock, the mission is strictly reconnaissance. Also, sending one of my ‘lackeys’ is, unfortunately, out of the question for reasons I do not wish to disclose.”

Sherlock allowed a smirk to grace his features as he relaxed back into the couch loftily. “A leak?”

Mycroft, instead of rising to the bait, ignored him and rounded the desk while he said, “We are also unable to confirm whether or not it actually reached the ground intact. However, in the case it did land, I calculated the approximate landing site based on its trajectory.” Mycroft walked towards him before he pointed to an area on the map that had been crumpled slightly under his feet. “It should have landed around here, two-hundred-eighty kilometers north-east of Wall.”

Sherlock raised a delicate brow at that. Surely his brother must know that any form of technology ceases to function once it passes through the barrier separating the two worlds. He couldn’t take a car, and to walk such a distance would be pointless if time was a critical element to the success of the reconnaissance mission. “And how, exactly, do you expect me to get there?”

“By means of a Babylon Candle, of course.”

The map fluttered to the floor as Sherlock sat up in surprise, eyes wide as he stared at his brother in disbelief. “Impossible,” he hissed.

“Not impossible, Sherlock, only highly improbable.” Sherlock noted with mild irritation that his brother now wore an insufferable smirk as he began to walk back towards his desk.

“How?” Sherlock growled. He had fruitlessly wasted hundreds of hours travelling between London and the world beyond Wall in search of the very object his brother now offered him.

“A contact in Faerie. That is, however, irrelevant to what I am proposing to you.” Mycroft began to gather the papers on his desk as he spoke, separating them before carefully slipping them inside a divided folder he had procured from his desk. “I have already made the necessary preparations for your journey,” his brother continued. “A driver will be at your flat at eleven-thirty so I would recommend that you get some rest before—”

“Oh, piss off!” Sherlock shouted, cutting off his brother’s speech as he stood abruptly. “You’re obviously using the candle as a lure to get me to take this absolute joke of a case. Why? Is there something going on in the city I am, as of yet, unaware of?”

He watched with clenched fists as Mycroft set the folder down gingerly on his desk. “I had only thought you might appreciate—”

Sherlock let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Do not appall me with your petty excuses, _brother_.” Sherlock seethed. “I will head to Wall this afternoon without the help of any one of your men and I will be returning to London. I will not let you keep me from whatever it is you are trying to hide here.” And with that, Sherlock turned on his heel, knocking the map off the table in his haste as he made his way to the door and exited the building without once looking back. It would take more than a case from his brother to get him to leave London before he found out where the fun was.

…

Mycroft watched impassively as his brother stormed out of his office. It was rather typical, really. Sherlock always seemed to assume that he was deliberately trying to remove him from the brunt of the action. While that was usually the case, it was not in this instance and he had hoped his brother would be able to at least see that. He sat in his chair with an exasperated sigh, a hand still lying atop the folder as he waited.

A moment later, his door was once again pushed open to reveal Anthea. “Do you want to send someone after him, sir?” she asked from the doorway.

“No,” he answered. “Just put this somewhere he will find after he arrives in Wall.” He slid the folder forward as he spoke and he waited as Anthea strutted up to his desk to grab it and tuck it under her arm. “That is all.”

“Of course, sir.”

Mycroft turned his chair away from her as she left and closed his eyes. He could only wait and hope that his brother would look at the contents of the folder before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I would like to personally thank you all for reading.
> 
> Just some more quick notes here at the end.
> 
> For those who have not read Stardust or have watched the film, I would like to explain a couple things. Regarding the "two worlds", I plan to go more in depth in that area in the next chapter since it will be more prevalent then. The Babylon Candle, however, I will take the time to explain now. The Babylon Candle is used by the protagonist in order to travel great distances by means of candle light. For this story, I will be using the film adaptation where all the user has to do is think of the place they want to be and light the candle in order to be transported there.
> 
> Also, the case mentioned at the beginning of the story is the case of the Red-headed League. All rights to that story belong to Arthur Conan Doyle. I just had to include it since I, myself, am a redhead. (Sorry!)
> 
> That is all for now, my dear readers. I would enjoy reading any comments you guys have so feel free to leave some. Time to get going on the next chapter!


End file.
